Chapter 18-19 - The Rookie: Former Seal

Chapter 18 – When Everything Goes Silent

October 2, 2015 – 2:42 PM

City Car 7-Adam-15 – West Los Angeles Precinct

The heat was humid that afternoon. Clouds gathered in the sky like a subtle warning, dragging shadows across the sidewalks as Los Angeles pulsed with its restless cadence. Inside the car, the radio maintained a constant hiss. Angela Lopez drove, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, eyes darting from the road to the rearview mirror. Derek Davis, beside her, reviewed reports on his tablet, his eyes fixed, his posture alert even amidst the apparent calm.

The shift proceeded normally, until the dispatcher's voice boomed over the radio, firm and crisp:

"All units, attention: code 417 — hostage situation in progress. Shots reported. Address: 7641 Holloway Drive, local business. Hostages confirmed, possible armed man still inside."

Angela exchanged a look with Derek.

"We're two blocks away."

"Let's go," he said, already reaching for the radio button.

"7-Adam-15, we're on our way. ETA, less than two minutes."

2:45 PM – Green Stop Convenience Store – Holloway Drive

The patrol car screeched to a halt in front of the small convenience store, nestled between a laundromat and a print shop. Three civilians were running from the store, screaming, their hands raised. One of them was bleeding from his arm. Inside, through the narrow, billboard-covered windows, a figure could be seen moving agitatedly. Someone fell to the ground. Another scream. And then... silence.

Angela got out, her pistol already unholstered, and positioned herself beside the front door. Derek went around the side, heading straight for the alley leading to the delivery door. The tension in the air was palpable.

The radio crackled in her headphones:

"Supporting units en route. SWAT activated. First team in ten minutes. Unknown hostiles. Number of hostages: between two and four. White male, 30 to 40 years old, gray shirt, possible handgun."

Angela whispered into the radio:

"Davis, visual?"

"Negative. Windows covered. I tried a side line, but the service door is locked from the inside. No direct access."

She took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the dark interior of the store.

"We need time."

"We have to stabilize until SWAT arrives."

"He's already shot someone. He could kill someone else at any second."

Derek was silent for a moment. Then he said:

"I'll go to the side door and try communication. If he's receptive, I can distract him. If not… I'll move in."

"This is crazy."

"It's necessary."

Angela hesitated.

"Okay. But if he starts shooting, you back off. This isn't war, Davis. This is LA."

"Understood."

2:49 PM – Green Stop Side

Derek approached the side door, crouched low, his vest tightly fitted to his body. He knocked lightly with his closed fist, twice, like a friendly knock. He waited.

Nothing.

He knocked again.

This time, a tense male voice answered from the other side.

"Who is it?"

"LAPD. My name is Derek. I'm here to talk."

"Get out of here!"

"I'm not leaving. I don't want to hurt you. Not you. Not anyone else."

Silence.

Then, a nervous sob. A female voice crying in the background.

Derek leaned against the wall beside the door. He had only the pistol in his hand, gripped firmly, but pointed downward.

—"What's your name?"

—"Mark."

—"Mark. Listen. There are a lot of worried people in there. Are you hurt? Is anyone hurt?"

—"I... I just wanted money. But she screamed. The security guard reacted. I shot. But I didn't want to. I didn't want to..."

—"Okay. Okay. This helps. You're being honest. That's good, Mark. This is how we start."

Angela listened to everything from the front. She kept her eyes fixed on the entrance, waiting for any movement. She was sweating. Every word Derek said was a rope over the abyss.

"SWAT unit coming in 3 minutes," the radio reported.

Derek continued:

—"Mark, are there any children in there?"

—"No... just her. The attendant. And the security guard... he... he's not moving anymore."

"Okay. This is important, Mark. Now listen: if you put your gun on the ground and come out with your hands up, I guarantee no one will hurt you. You made a mistake. But you can stop now. You can end this without any more pain."

On the other side, silence.

Then a noise: the metallic sound of a gun being placed on the ground. Soft, but clear. Immediately afterward, the door creaked. It opened slowly. A thin, pale, sweating man emerged with his hands up. He was trembling. He was unarmed.

Derek approached him quickly, immobilizing him with precise movements. Handcuffs, a search for an additional weapon, and then, over the radio:

"7-Adam-15, we have the suspect in custody. Area secured. Entering for hostage extraction."

Angela ran inside with him.

The clerk sat behind the counter, in shock. There was blood on her hands, but it was the security guard's, sprawled on the ground. Derek knelt down and checked for a pulse. Absent. Pupils dilated.

"That's it," he said quietly.

Angela pulled the young attendant out, while paramedics entered seconds later. The SWAT team also arrived, sweeping the area in seconds, but the threat had already been resolved—by words, by presence, by control.

4:21 PM – Police Station Parking Lot

Angela and Derek sat on the bumper of the patrol car, their vests removed. The breeze carried the distant smell of hot concrete and the city breathing.

She turned to him.

"You know what you did in there, right?"

"I just bought time."

"You saved a life. Two, if you count the guy himself. And no one shot. No bullets. No explosions. Just voices."

Derek wiped his hands with a damp cloth. Then he looked at her.

"In the past, it was always force. Always entry. Today, I know that presence can be more powerful than impact."

She smiled.

"And you're a master at it. Presence."

He responded with a subtle smile.

— "It's not much. But it's what I can offer."

— "It's everything, Derek."

And that day, when silence overcame chaos, it was proven: the hardest battles are sometimes won without a single shot being fired.

Only with the right voice, at the right time.

And someone who understands that, above all, you have to listen.

Chapter 19 – Roots and Faces

October 3, 2015 – 11:07 AM

Mid-Wilshire Police Station – Reception

Saturday morning arrived with soft light and a mild atmosphere, the kind of rare day in Los Angeles when even the air seems to slow down. The Mid-Wilshire Police Station had a quieter pace than usual. The occasional detainee being processed, quiet conversations in the hallways, the occasional ringing of a phone—it almost felt like a normal Saturday.

Angela was in the reporting room, finalizing documents from the previous night's shift. The fatigue wasn't so much physical as emotional. The hostage situation from the previous day still reverberated in her mind. Derek's words, the way he'd handled the tension... and how different he was now than when she'd first met him.

The intercom buzzed once. The receptionist's voice echoed over the intercom:

"Officer Davis, please report to reception. Visitor awaiting."

Angela glanced at the open door to the office and then down the hallway, where Derek was coming from, coffee in hand and his usual upright posture.

"Visiting?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Derek checked his watch, then nodded, as if something clicked in his memory.

"My parents."

Angela blinked.

"Really? Here?"

"They were in Pasadena and decided to stop by to check on me. I told them yesterday I might be on call."

Angela set the tablet down on the table, now visibly curious.

"I have to see this."

11:11 AM – Police Station Reception

When Angela and Derek turned into the reception hallway, she wasn't sure what to expect. She had imagined Derek's parents as a senior version of himself—serious, reserved, probably with a military or lawyerly demeanor, cold but polite. Instead, what she saw were two well-dressed adults, with vigorous appearances, lively eyes, and warm smiles.

John Davis was tall, a little shorter than Derek, but still imposing. He had graying hair at his temples and broad shoulders. His posture betrayed his police background—there was something about the way he looked around, as if he were still on patrol, even in his casual jacket and open-collar shirt.

Elizabeth Davis, on the other hand, was refined. She wore a cream-colored blazer, dark jeans, and a light scarf around her neck. Her hair was tied back in a simple, elegant bun, and her face was serene, with firm features and expressive eyes. The way she kept her gaze on her sons even when Derek wasn't saying anything gave her that she knew more than she was letting on.

When they saw their son, they both smiled.

"Derek," Elizabeth said, opening her arms.

Derek approached and hugged her, respectfully and affectionately.

"Mom. Dad."

John shook his son's hand, then gave him a light, friendly slap on the shoulder.

"You still look like you're ready to board a Black Hawk."

"It's the uniform," Derek replied, with a slight smile.

Elizabeth looked at Angela, who was standing a step away.

"And you must be Angela Lopez."

Angela extended her hand, surprised.

"I am. Nice to meet you."

Elizabeth shook her hand firmly with a friendly smile.

"My son doesn't usually talk about people much, but you're an exception. That says a lot."

John approached and shook Angela's hand as well.

"He said you're 'sharp, poised, and reliable.' That's the kind of compliment Derek gives. Three words and that's it."

Angela laughed, slightly embarrassed.

"He's just like that."

"And he's still learning how to deal with it, right?" — Elizabeth finished, winking.

11:30 AM – Break Room

The four of them sat in the police station break room, coffee mugs in hand. Angela watched the family dynamic closely. It was... warm. Different from what she had imagined. There was respect, of course. But there was also affection, stories shared with glances. A quiet trust.

"So, John," Angela began, leaning in. "You were a cop too?"

"Yes. LAPD. Over twenty years of service. Traffic, patrol, vice, and I ended up as a supervisor in tactical operations."

"So... Derek followed in your footsteps?"

John looked at his son.

"Not really. I served here. He went to war."

Derek finished calmly:

"But I always admired what he did. As a kid, I thought my dad was invincible."

Angela smiled.

— "And you, Elizabeth? Did Derek mention you were a lawyer?"

— "Criminal lawyer. I worked for twenty-five years. I defended a lot of difficult people. Guilty people, repeat offenders, cases with no easy defense. But what motivated me was making sure the system worked—that everyone had a voice, even if I didn't agree with what they said."

— "So... justice ran in both halves of the house."

Elizabeth laughed, nodding.

— "Exactly. One in uniform, the other with the Constitution in hand. There were more than a few dinners where we discussed the line between legality and morality."

John added:

— "And Derek grew up hearing all this. He always silent, but observant. He absorbed everything. When he said he was going to enlist, we knew he meant it."

Angela looked at Derek thoughtfully.

"And when he came back… he came back even quieter?"

Elizabeth looked at her son. There was tenderness in her eyes.

"He came back different. But never... absent. It just took him a while to let the war go quiet inside him."

John nodded.

"And today, seeing him here, using everything he's ever lived to protect this city—in his own way—we know he's found a new meaning."

Derek was silent, but there was emotion in his eyes.

"I really have," he said, looking directly at Angela.

12:05 PM – Leaving the police station

As she left, Elizabeth hugged her son tightly.

"I'm glad to see you like this. At peace. Or as close to it as you can get."

Derek nodded.

"Thank you for coming."

John squeezed his hand tightly.

"If you need some old-timer tactical advice, I still know a few tricks."

"Noted," Derek said, smiling.

Elizabeth turned to Angela.

"Thank you for being with him. Even if he doesn't say it, it makes all the difference."

Angela just smiled, touched.

"It's mutual. And I know it."

They said goodbye, leaving the police station under the same soft sunshine that had brought them here.

Angela and Derek stood there for a moment, watching the two of them walk away.

"They're amazing," she said.

Derek replied quietly, almost as if confessing:

"They're my roots. Everything I am... started there."

Angela looked at him, and for the first time, she felt like she truly knew him.

And on that quiet Saturday, amidst stories of war, justice, and family ties, she saw Derek Davis in his entirety not the SEAL, not the cop, but the man.

And that, for her, was more than any mission.

Chapter 11 - Chapter 18-19